


when you’re lost, i’ll find a way (i’ll be your light)

by kamwashere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Powers, Angst, Bakery, Eroda, Eroda AU, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Two Shot, i describe harry's outfits in details, ish?, no beta we die like men, references to their songs, they kiss n date n stuff, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22817935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamwashere/pseuds/kamwashere
Summary: ‘Rum, innit?’ The man grumbles and turns his back from him.[Harry] nods and fishes the note from his pocket when his eyes catch someone else’s. Green meets blue. Harry stops, and so does the boy. He’s wearing a beige, wool sweater and faded denim overalls. His brown, floppy hair seems to hug his whole face and his fringe is swept to the side. The lines on his mouth promise trouble, andGod, his eyes.-Or, the Eroda AU featuring a shy boy with the brightest smile on the island, and a newcomer with eyes as blue as the sea surrounding it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

Eroda is a cold, dark place and Harry means that quite literally. In fact, he can’t think of a single instance where the sun has ever shone on their little island. The wide skies seem to hide behind the thick, grey clouds and there always seem to be a hint of mist in the air. Perhaps that is why Erodians are as cold as their weather.

Maybe he’s just complaining again. Eroda is not so bad. It may have its own faults but its sights of grandeur are something to behold. They are surrounded by the mighty sea which stretches on for miles and miles, the waters that touch his feet glitters like precious stones. Yuna, Harry’s village, is perched on top of a hill, overlooking the island. There are many industries on the island; alcohol brewing, salon and spas, candle-making, and such but the island’s main metier is fishing. Erodians don’t just love fishing, they live for it. They might as well live in the sea, since their hearts belong to the waters. Harry doesn’t really understand it; the vastness of the seas terrify him. He tries to stay as far away as possible. _Tries_ being the keyword. As much as he tries to hate the sea, he can’t help coming back. Mostly because he is literally surrounded by it.

The island is gorgeous at every turn, but what really puts their quaint isle on the map is the Lighthouse. The Lighthouse sits solitary on top of a cliff, at the edge of the sea. The grassy hills and the rocky coast surround the short, white tower, and the light shining from it during the night serves as a beacon, a call from home for all fishermen and sailors. 

Harry wakes up with a ray of light hitting him on the face. He opens his eyes blearily, confused. He’s awake but not quite; he can feel that his left arm is numb, having been resting it beneath his head. He always sleeps on his side, so this is not a surprise. He blinks rapidly at the sunlight, not believing what he’s seeing. He sits up on his rickety bed, properly looking at it. Harry’s never seen sunlight like this before; just one straight beam from the sky to the ground. He runs his fingers through it, delighted as the light seems to dance on his hand. A smile creeps up on his face, and before he knows it, a flash of light rips from his own mouth. He covers his mouth, but the it seeps through. Harry closes his eyes and tries to control it, when he opens them again; it’s gone. He sighs in relief. 

It gets worse as he grows older; and he’s barely twenty now. He can’t help it sometimes, the light just comes out of him like a supernova exploding. His mum and Gemma assure him that he should cherish a gift like this but Harry thinks it’s a curse, actually. Half of the villagers despise him, and the other half are terrified. He doesn’t know where it came, and how he got it (or how it got him), but as far as Harry is concerned, he’s the only one he knows that has this condition. 

That is why he mainly just keeps to himself in his room. He’s been lucky enough to get a job in a tiny bakery in town from Gemma’s mate’s mum, who doesn’t quite hate him. It’s not much, but Harry loves it. The bakery he works in is three blocks away from the market, which means it's busy in the mornings when they release the first batch of fresh pastries. It is also fairly packed in the afternoon when locals come in for biscuits for their teas. 

Harry stands up, stretches, and looks at his reflection in the small vanity near his bed. A boy with a crumpled mop of curls and beady, emerald eyes stare back at him. He raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes, watching as his reflection does the same. He stands for a while, and looks back to the beam of sunlight from his window, still radiant and warm. He eyes one of the glass jars on top of his dresser. He reaches for if and very gingerly sits on the edge of his bed. Harry unscrews the lid, and slowly and carefully moves the opening of the jar near the light, watching in fascination as the glow snakes around the jar and claims it as its home. He puts the lid back on and puts it beside his bedside table, beaming. 

He takes a hot shower, and gets dressed. Harry loves dressing up; loves the way fabric clings to his skin, loves the way his outfits says a statement. He's wearing a loose, creamy white dress shirt and loose, cuffed trousers. He snatches the over sized, suede coat hanging on his chair and goes downstairs where his mother, Anne is humming to herself and cooking breakfast. His sister, Gemma is sat at the dining table already with a steaming mug of coffee and a book in her hand. 'Morning,' he mumbles while taking a seat across from his sister. 

'Morning, Haz.' His mum gives him a sleepy smile. She looks tired, he notes. Gemma softly grunts in return, engrossed in her book. Harry eats his scrambled eggs and toast in silence, sipping on a hot chocolate. When he’s done, he washes his plate and kisses his mum goodbye. He puts on the coat and steps outside their little house, peering thoughtfully at his neighbourhood. It's small, and all the houses vary in size but they all sit in a close perimeter together. He walks the cobbled streets towards the bakery, feeling a slight chill in the air even though it's in the middle of June. Summer doesn't really exist in Eroda, they mostly get rain, snow, and more rain. Typical English weather. 

Harry stops in front of a brick-walled building, and brings the collar of his coat closer to his face. The words _Mandeville’s_ in faded, yellow paint welcomes him. A steam of his warm breath wafts back to his face, and he pushes the creaky, wooden door and steps inside. He can hear Mrs. Oakes tinkering with the utensils in the kitchen, and he assumes his seat behind the counter. He's a little early, which is no surprise. He leans on his back and props himself backward, balancing on his seat. By the sound of it, Mrs. Oakes must have already put the goods in the stone oven.

The morning passes him by, with Harry almost instinctively bagging in the pastries like he does every day. Some of the customers look at him hesitantly, having known of his reputation but the locals just treat him with indifference. Before he knows it, it's past 10 o clock, and Mrs. Oakes is already baking fresh, new batches of danish, strudels, and pretzels **.** The smell of baked goodness fills his nose and he quickly fixes his maroon apron when 

Mrs. Oakes steps out of the kitchen, her hair tied into a bun and her whole head comically wrapped with a large hair net. She looks cranky, and her cheeks are dusted with flour and sugar. She looks at Harry and says, 'Harold, love,' She always called him Harold, 'Be a dear and fetch a bottle of rum from Frankie's.'

Harry could only assume they were for the tiramisu, or probably something else. He dares not ask. He nods and pockets the five pound note **.** Frankie's is two blocks away from Mandeville’s, and he’s skipping towards Beachwood Street. He stops when an old man passing by looks at him with a frown. He feels his face burns up and he stops and looks at his shoes before assuming normal strides. 

When he reaches Frankie’s pub, his mouth thins to a frown. Harry looks around, anxiously fiddling with the zipper of his coat before he spots the owner. He sits on one of the wooden stools and settles his arms on top of the counter, looking contemplative. The man, Frank Jr., is serving someone a pint of beer when his gaze drops to Harry. He sits up straighter and raises his hand when the man just waves him off. Harry frowns and slumps back to his seat. 

Frank Jr. comes back not a minute later, sporting a deep frown and wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks. He is a large man, wearing a pullover that seems a little too tight for him. His greying moustache bushes his upper lip, and when he speaks his tongue touches it, ‘What issit?’

‘Mrs. Oakes—’ Harry almost stutters out. Frank Jr. waves him off again. 

‘Rum, innit?’ The man grumbles and turns his back from him. He nods and fishes the note from his pocket when his eyes catch someone else’s. Green meets blue. Harry stops, and so does the boy. He’s wearing a beige, wool sweater and faded denim overalls. His brown, floppy hair seems to hug his whole face and his fringe is swept to the side. The lines on his mouth promises trouble, and _God_ , his eyes. They’re so blue; blue as the seas Harry wakes up to. Impossibly bluer even. The moment seems to go on forever until the boy looks away and takes a sip of his beer, returning his attention to his friends, presumably. When he laughs, his eyes crinkles.

Harry stares at the boy’s back for a quarter of second before he snaps out of his reverie and turns back to Frank Jr., who’s glaring at him. He sheepishly sends him a tight-lipped smile and hands him the money. The man huffs and gives him the bottle, no taller than a brass spoon. He stares at the clear liquid sloshing inside the bottle. Frank Jr. returns with the change. He thanks the man and stands up from his seat, putting the change inside his pockets and clutches the bottle of rum with a tight hand. 

He heads over to the door and steals a glance towards the boy, who was already looking at him. Harry quickly looks away and exits the warm pub. 

Harry returns to Mandeville’s, and dazedly hands Mrs. Oakes the rum and money. His shift ends at three in the afternoon and as he receives his daily, fresh croissants, (Mrs. Oakes always insists on giving Harry two croissants as a sort of thank-you for his hard work all morning and most afternoon. He always flushes whenever she does but gratefully accepts.) he strides on his way home, mind adrift. 

The boy must be new, since Harry has never seen him before. (He definitely would have remembered.) He wonders when was the last time Eroda has seen a newcomer. 

* * *

The next day, he wakes up with a crick on his neck. The sunlight he captured from the glass jar still glows brightly, and it brings a smile to his face. Today, he wears flowy, high-waisted denim trousers, blue turtleneck, and a blue newsie cap. Harry goes downstairs, and plants wet kisses on his mum’s and sister’s cheeks. They look at him weirdly but he grins at them, flashing light. He tries to rein it in and he bites his cheeks, but the smile is persistent on his face. He has no idea why he feels so giddy today, but he is. His mum smiles at him, pleasantly surprised by his good mood. ‘Morning, baby.’

‘Morning, Mum. Morning, Gems.' He chirps, taking a huge bite of his crispy, buttered toast. Gemma snorts on her coffee, and turns a page of her book pointedly. Harry ignores her. 

He decides to take his back on his way to work today. The wind threatens to knock his cap off, but it thankfully stays on. He parks his bike in front of the building, and he enters the bakery. It seems that he’s right on time because inside, the fragrant smell of bread straight out of the oven. Harry grabs his apron from behind the counter and visits the kitchen to greet Mrs. Oakes. She just grunts in reply and orders him to bring out the first batches of cherry scones, muffins, tarts, and crumpets. 

When he goes back, there’s already a customer approaching, and he puts his best salesman face. The day passes him by like a blur, and Harry feels his muscles ache. There’s still an hour left in his shift and he does his best not to look impatient as the thin, old woman scrutinizes the platter of pastries in front of her. ‘Have you decided, ma’am?’ he asks politely.

‘Give me a minute,’ she snapped. Harry’s shoulder slump and he looks down, waiting. After what seems like forever, the woman finally decided on a slice of a banoffee pie. That’s when Harry made a mistake. He got so excited that he flashed a bright smile towards the old woman, possibly momentarily blinding her when a flare of light erupts from his mouth. He quickly slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in horror. The woman stares at him in shock, then it turns into anger. 

'Learn to control yourself, young man!' The old woman hisses, making Harry's breath hitch in his throat painfully. The people inside the bakery whip their heads toward them after the woman's outburst, and Harry wishes the earth beneath would open up and swallow him whole. His cheeks are flaming when she stalks out of the store. His old pals, scorn and shame, greet him again and he hangs his head low, trying to will the hot tears away. He fumbles with his apron and dashes to the kitchen, heavily breathing. 

Mrs. Oakes stops what she’s doing and looks at him, 'Harold?' 

‘I’m,’ His lips wobble, and he looks away, ‘I have to go, Mrs. Oakes.’

‘What happened? You okay, love?’ He shakes his head. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ He shakes his head again. She seems to understand, but she grabs his two croissants and places it on his hands. She ruffles his hair, looking concerned but she thankfully shuts her mouth.

‘Thank you,’ Harry mutters before he goes straight to the door at the back. Then, he starts running. 

* * *

His legs take him to a lone bench near the beach, and directly above a cliff. His place. It's quiet and undisturbed; only waves splashing on the shore. He stares at the calm dribbling of water against the sand, mouth open and eyes red. Harry closes his eyes, hair plastered on his sweaty forehead, and breathes the saltiness of the wind. His legs buckle down and he sits on the bench, eyes still shut closed. He wishes his mind would stop spinning, and his breath would stop escaping him but it doesn't. He wonders when it would stop being so hard but he already knows the answer. 

His heartbeat had just stopped hammering in his chest when he feels a sharp pain at the back of his head. Harry whips his head around, when he feels a stone hit him squarely on the forehead. He touches his forehead, and looks up. It's the boy from yesterday. 

The boy is picking up another pebble when Harry yells out, 'Oi!' His voice came out scratchy, but it does the effect because the boy looks down and does a double take, ‘Hi. You hit me.’ Harry says, sounding petulant. 

The boy blinks, ‘Did I?’ His voice is high, and heavy with a hint of Yorkshire accent. He definitely is a newcomer. 

Then, the boy starts walking away, and just disappears, making Harry frown. He’s still clutching the paper bag containing the pastry when he stands up, wondering where he'd gone when he hears light steps creeping up on him. The boy was walking towards him, his brown hair flying away from his face making his face look more bare. The naturally blue, almost greyish sunlight Eroda has seems to highlight his jutted out cheekbones, and the edge of his jaw. He’s wearing a yellow windbreaker jacket with orange highlights and fitted, cargo pants. His head turns upwards, and to Harry. ‘Oops, sorry about that.’

‘’S fine,’ Harry mumbles, and sits down on the bench. The boy seems to shuffle closer to him, and Harry tries not to tense up. He hovers near the bench then just plops next to him, staring at the sea. 

There is a beat of silence and the boy looks at him and bluntly asks, ‘Were you crying?’

‘No,’ he sniffles. The boy snorts. ‘Yes.’

‘Sorry I hit you with pebbles. You were probably having a bad day,’ His voice is like honey laced with sugar, but something tangy and sharp, too—like clementines. He could probably listen to it all day. Harry briefly daydreams about clementines. (He loves clementines.) ‘If it makes you feel better, I was having a bad day, too.’

‘Really?’ He looks up, because the boy doesn’t look like it. The boy looks like nothing bothers him, so it surprises Harry that he said that.

‘Yeah.’ The boy lets out a bitter smile, ‘I miss me home.’

‘Oh.’ 

The boy rests his arm on top of the backrest, and regards him with a tilt of his head. 'What about you, Curly? Why're you sad?'

'My name's Harry,' He says, while ruffling his fringe self-consciously. 'And I'm not sad.'

The boy snorts again. 'It's okay to feel sad.' Harry doesn’t know what to think about that. 'I'm Louis, by the way.' 

'Louis,' Harry says, testing the name on his tongue and looking at the boy, at _Louis_. His name suits him; regal and grown-up. 

‘That’s me,’ Louis smiles at him, his crinkly eyes returning. Instinctively, Harry feels himself smile back but he covers his mouth just in time. The shorter boy looks at him strangely but partly ignores Harry’s weird behaviour as he goes back to staring at the sea. There’s a weird serenity that settles between them, and he relishes in it. It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t run away from the sight of him. 

At that point, he suddenly remembers something. He looks for the paper bag somewhere, and finds it nearly squashed by his bum on the side. He brings it up to the level of their faces, and asks Louis politely, ‘Do you want a croissant?’ His mother didn't raise him to be rude to strangers.

He blinks at Harry, then at the paper bag, then shrugs. ‘Sure, Curly.’

Harry pulls the croissants out from the bag and cringes when he sees that they have been partly smushed, oozing chocolate on one side. He squishes the bread and is slightly relieved that they’re still crispy. He looks at the other boy and smiles tinnily, ‘Sorry, they’re kind of…’

‘It’s food, ain't it?’ He grins and snatches the croissant from Harry’s hand, chomping down on it like a kid. His smile widens when Louis starts groaning with pleasure, looking at him in alarm. He bites again and sinks in on the bench dramatically, and Harry giggles.

'Harry, this is the best croissant I've ever had.'

Harry's stomach flutters when Louis said his name. He looks at his own croissant and nibbles at it. He looks at the pastry at his hands and takes a bite as big as Louis’, chewing slowly. The firmness of the bread, the grease of the butter, and the richness of the chocolate all collide inside his mouth and he nods, agreeing with what Louis said. 

He’s been having this croissant for years, almost getting sick of them but right now, sitting with a boy named Louis, it’s never tasted so sweet in his tongue. 

'Did you make this?' Louis waves what now is a small piece of the bread in his fingers. He pops it on his mouth and looks at Harry questioningly.

He shakes his head. 'No, erm, they're from the bakery I work in.'

Louis nods, sucking the chocolate on his fingers. Harry looks away, blushing before focusing on eating the remainder of the pastry. They presume their silence from before, but it’s much more comfortable now, welcoming even. Harry knows that the boy beside him is just a stranger, but something about Louis that’s just so relaxing, and familiar. He feels oddly easy. 

The boy suddenly stands up, making Harry jump in his head. Louis looks around wildly and at Harry, ‘What time is it?’

Harry shrugs, bewildered. 

‘I have to go, Curly,’ He’s already walking away, but he throws a look behind him and a wave. ‘Thanks for the croissant!’

‘Bye…’ Harry calls out, hand raised in vain. He thinks about how this was the most peculiar interaction he's had with a stranger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so an eroda au has been on mind for WEEKS now and i just decided to do it. (it's probably been done before,,, hng sorry) i really liked the concept of the music video, esp harry (or the boy's) "powers" and i thought, why not expand to that idea? thus, this was born lol! 
> 
> also i took the name "mandeville's" from the bakery harry worked in irl (it was called w mandeville ltd) so yeah, fun fact lmao. 
> 
> next chapter will be up very soon! please leave a kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed reading! :D


	2. Chapter 2

When he goes home, his mum is draped asleep on their beige futon. She’s resting her cheek on the back of her hand, hair framing her face. Her mum loves afternoon naps, and she desperately needs it in her line of career, teaching little kids in the morning. Thankfully, it’s the summer vacation, but her body has just gotten used to sleeping in the afternoon that it’s just a reflex now. Their door creaks loudly, it always does, and his mum stirs in her sleep. Harry mutters an apology.

‘Hey, Haz,’ She sits up, looking rejuvenated with sleep. ‘Where’d you been?’

‘The bench.’ Harry answers truthfully, sitting on the first step of the wooden stairs, chin resting on his palm. He shares everything with his mum, and he knows every little quirks he has. 

His mum nods, and softly states, ‘I heard what happened.’ 

He cringes. He hasn’t done that in years; running away. When Harry was younger, he didn’t used to be this timid, voiceless boy. His mum once said that he used to be really smiley and bright, just all around excited. That he used to be a little star and preened at the title. But then he slowly, gradually just stops. His mum looked really sad when she said that he had lost his _smile._ It’s hard to fathom that he used to be that little boy, he could barely even remember that time. Harry sometimes how different things would be if he didn’t have this… condition. 

‘You wanna talk about it?’

‘It’s nothing, it’s just,’ he sighs, ‘There’s this grandma and erm, I smiled at her and she told me to control myself.’

‘Oh, babe.’ 

‘It’s fine,’ he quickly interjects, and smiles with his mouth closed. ‘’Cause I think I made a new friend.’

‘Really?’ His mum sits up, brightening up. When she smiles, her dimples show. Like him and Gemma. 

‘Yeah. His name’s Louis.’ Harry says dreamily. 

His mum’s smile grows bigger. ‘Well, I’m happy for you, H.’

‘Me too, Mum.’

* * *

Harry is awake before sunrise. He has no idea why but his body is buzzing with energy. He's sitting on the chair, drumming his fingers on his desk. He currently has his leather journal spread open, words scattered in the page. Harry loves to write, though he doesn't do it as often as he'd like. It's a passion that started when he was fourteen, though he doesn't really cultivate it as much as he should. He'd write lines for poems, songs, and sometimes, stories that he'd never really finish. 

And now, his mind is so awake that he feels like only writing would dampen. He stares at what he's written so far:

> _Written in these walls are the stories I can’t tell_
> 
> _I leave my heart open but it stays right unchanged_
> 
> _I know that in the morning,_
> 
> _I will see us in a light atop a hill_
> 
> _Although I am broken, my heart is untamed_

It isn't much, but he's sort of proud of it. He chews his lips, then scratches out some of the words:

> _Written in these walls are the stories I can’t_ ~~_tell_ ~~ _change_
> 
> _I leave my heart open but it stays right_ ~~_unchanged_ ~~ _empty again_
> 
> _I know that in the morning, now_
> 
> _I will see us in a light atop a hill_
> 
> _Although I am broken, my heart is untamed_

'Harry, breakfast!' Comes his mum's yell from downstairs. His eyes snap on his watch and he curses softly. It's quarter to six and he goes to work at seven. He jumps to the shower and gets dressed—a long-sleeved, patterned shirt that's almost see-through with the two buttons popped off. He wears a thick, plaid brown waistcoat over the shirt, and tucks it in with short, peach-coloured slacks. He looks at himself at the vanity, pausing for a while. He disturbs his curls with his hands and snatches the journal from his desk. 

Harry jogs downstairs, throws out a quick greeting to his mum. Gemma isn't up yet, probably still sleeping in since she doesn't work today. She has a job as a _stylist assistant_ of some sort at the Adoré salon. There's a rarity of women in Eroda who use it but that doesn't stop Gemma, being a young woman of modernity. However, as much as she loves makeup, Gemma doesn’t want to make a career out of it. She actually goes to uni in Sheffield, pursuing a degree in education. A teacher, just like his Mum. 

He grabs a toast from the plate and downs the nearly-scalding tea. 'I'm late!' He says, distressed as he bites a chunk of his toast. He squeezes into his ankle boots, almost tripping. 'Bye, Mum!' 

'Bye, Haz! Have fun!' 

Harry arrives at Mandeville's with a minute to spare, and when he enters the bakery, Mrs. Oakes is already laying down the trays with both hands. The pastries are steaming hot, fresh out of the oven, and Harry wastes no time grabbing a pair of mittens from the hook and takes a tray from her hand. He sputters out a fast string of apologies, to which she only responds with a grunt. When he places the tray in the display case, he strolls inside the kitchen to grab two trays, which was the last out of ten. 

'Wear your apron!' Mrs. Oakes barks at him. He nods and snatches the maroon apron from the hook. He bites his lips as he stands awkwardly beside the counter, while she mills around the area. She takes a gander at Harry, eyes narrowed before going back to the kitchen. He sighs and slumps on the chair. He wasn't terribly late but Mrs. Oakes values punctuality more than anything. He fixes some of the clutter on the counter and waits for customers. 

Morning rush, which is decidedly no rush at all, passes the bakery like a breeze. The mood inside the bakery feels lazy, lethargic. Few people have stopped by, and fewer have actually bought something. Harry was arranging the pots of tulips by the window sill when the door opened. He pays no mind to the person, they're probably just here to lounge.

'Well, this is a proper bakery, innit?' 

Harry freezes, recognizing the distinctive voice. When he turns around, Louis is standing there with his hands shoved on the pockets of his aviator jacket. He wears a green polo inside, tucked into his ripped denim jeans. He marches closer to Harry **,** smiling with his eyes. 'Nice apron.' 

'Louis,' he manages to breathe out, 'What are you doing here?

'Well, I had to get me one of those delicious croissants.' 

'Oh,' Harry looks at the flower pots and at his shoes. Then, he looks at the shorter boy. 'We have more pastries than croissants.'

Louis laughs, and the sound brings a thrum of pleasure deep in Harry's bones. It's a satisfying sound, the kind that starts on his throat and ends as an exhale from his mouth. 'I'm aware.'

Harry nods, feeling strangely embarrassed. He returns behind the counter, bending down to pull one of the trays and picks out the best-looking croissant out of the bunch. He places the pastry inside a paper wrapping and hands it over to the other boy. Louis takes it, hands poised on his pocket. 'How much?'

Harry shakes his head vehemently, making Louis furrow his brows. 'Harry, I'm a customer—' 

'It's fine,' he cuts him off, smiling without showing his teeth but wide enough that his dimples pop out. 

Louis rolls his eyes, 'Fine, but I'm paying next time.' He occupies the table closest to the counter, and Harry watches him as he takes a bite off the bread. He hides a smile from his mouth and goes back to his journal. He flips it open, takes the pen from his pocket and starts writing, picking up from where he has left off.

> _And I’ll be gone, and gone and gone_
> 
> _The ground beneath my feet is open wide_
> 
> _The way that_ ~~_I have been_ ~~ _I’ve been holding on much too tight_
> 
> _With nothing underneath_

His mind blanks out again, so he flips it close. He looks at Louis again, and he’s already finished his snack. He’s staring at the window, eyes downcast. Harry realizes he might be feeling sad again, and he tries to come up with something that might cheer the boy up. He knows just the thing. ‘Knock, knock.’ He blurts out, making the other boy look at him, an amused glint in his eyes.

‘Who’s there?’

‘A cow goes!’

Louis gives a long-suffering sigh. ‘A cow goes who?’

‘No, a cow goes moo!’

Louis snorts, and Harry counts that as a win. ‘That was terrible.’

‘You laughed!’

‘Barely!’ They both laugh, and Harry stops shortly, eyes widening. He purses his mouth closed, prompting a inquisitive look from the other boy. ‘Something wrong?’

He shakes his head no. Louis stares at him a beat longer but drops his gaze, he then crumples the paper wrapping he’s holding into a ball. ‘Sorry for dashing out yesterday, by the way. I’d forgotten I’ve work.’

‘Where do you work?’ Harry leans his chest into the counter. 

‘I help me uncle in the docks.’ Louis pockets the crumpled paper. ‘Replacing life jackets, tying ropes in anchors, things like that.’ 

He hums in response, finding that genuinely interesting. He thinks about sailing, which terrifies him. Then, he thinks about sailing to get away from here, and the idea seems much more appealing. He talks to Louis until it is time for him to go, only stopping when he has customers. He wonders if it’s possible to be comfortable with someone in such a short period of time. 

Louis came back again the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. He would order a croissant every time. (He tried the cherry scone once and did not hide his disgust for it. Harry doesn’t blame him.) 

He came in the middle of the afternoon, with the customers piling up. He's sitting on the far side of the room, near the window, easily conversing with the locals. Once in a while, Harry would hear his voice stand out from the sea of noises and his head would snap to his direction, hiding his smile whenever he had to. Louis is so easy to be with. Everything that comes out of his mouth is nothing short of interesting. 

When the rush died, Louis stayed in. He's currently sipping a cup of coffee, talking to an old man who’s nipping at a roly-poly. He wears a comfy-looking, orange jumper that looks three times larger than his size. He’s also wearing an undershirt, since his collars are sticking out. The man won’t stop talking his ear off, and when Harry finishes selling a strudel to a little boy, he smirks at Louis and props his cheeks and rests his elbow on the counter. The other boy, sensing Harry’s gaze, turns towards him and grins, eyes squinting adorably. He gives Louis a knowing look, making the other boy roll his eyes. 

'Excuse me, sir.' Louis nods and smiles at the old man, who looks at him in slight disappointment and dismisses him with a wave of hand. His smile widens, and he jogs over to the counter. When he looks at Harry, his eyes are twinkling. 'The usual, please.' 

'Of course, sir.' 

'What do you like?’

‘Er, what?’

‘What do you like from the menu?’ Louis elaborates patiently. 

Harry ponders over his question. ‘The um, chocolate banana crêpe?’

‘Alright, that too, please.'

Harry stops on his tracks, nodding faintly. Did Louis order that for someone else? He wasn't aware that he was waiting for someone. He feels foolish for thinking that Louis was actually here for him. Stupid Harry Styles who doesn't talk. He takes a paper bag and places two croissants inside. He avoids looking at Louis when he hands him the paper bag. 'Here you go.'

Louis gives him the payment, which is too much but he keeps his mouth shut, fearing that if he opens his mouth, he'll say something he would regret. Harry dutifully gives him the change, still not looking at the other boy. Louis occupies the same table, which he permanently called dibs on, and looks at his direction. 'What are you waiting for, then?' He looks at him with an eyebrow raised, patting the chair near him. 

Harry blinks. Then with a closed mouth, he smiles so widely, he’s truly shocked that the light has not bursted from his mouth and blasted all the people within a five-mile radius. He looks at the pendulum clock that is hanging on the wall next to the kitchen door: it’s only ten minutes before his break and there are only a couple of people inside the bakery. A little break wouldn’t hurt, would it? He eagerly takes off his apron and slides into the seat across Louis. The older boy slides the crêpe to him, and he accepts it gratefully. The reason why out of more than fifty items of the menu, this is his favourite is because it combines two of his favourite things together: chocolate and banana. The chocolate isn’t too sweet, but it’s not bitter either. The bananas are not soggy because of the chocolate, and the thin pancake contains adequate slices. He bites into the pastry and closes his eyes in bliss. 

Louis’ voice snaps him out of his crêpe orgasm. ‘So, how’d you like Temper Trap?’

‘ _Conditions_?’ He asks, licking the chocolate smeared on his fingers. Louis follows the action with great interest. ‘I really liked it, actually. Was very good.’

The other boy slaps the table with enthusiasm, grinning wildly. He’s been recommending Harry albums from various bands like The Fray, Kings of Leon, and now The Temper Trap. He usually likes classic rock music, but Louis’ taste in music is flawless and his picks are usually 96% on point, surprising Harry most of all. It’s admirable how much passion he has for music and Harry is glad that this was something they could bond on. They discuss the band more while eating their pastries and sipping their beverages. (Harry with his Yorkshire tea, and Louis with his black coffee.) It still baffles Harry that in the short length of days they have known each other, he feels like he’s known him all his life. The connection that he rarely finds with other people normally, it just comes in naturally when it comes to Louis. 

'Louis? Do you...' Harry trails off, voice suddenly lower than usual. He talks slower too when he's nervous. 'Are you doing anything tomorrow?' 

'I'm not doing anything right now. What's going on?' 

'Would you like to explore Eroda with me tomorrow?' 

Louis grins, his smile could only mean something troublesome. 'Are you asking me on a date, Curly?' 

Harry stares at him in surprise and starts stammering out a semblance of response. What came out was a lot of _umm_ 's, _uhhh's,_ and _pffbt_ 's. The older boy just laughs at him, and once again, he is blessed with the sound of his angelic laughter. It was a solid series of laughs and as much as he is embarrassed right now, Harry's glad he's the reason for it. 

'I'd love to.' 

* * *

The thing about Eroda is that it is an extremely small island, almost a dot when you look at it on the map. Every town is accessible by a bus, a bicycle, or just plainly walking. Harry is standing under the roof of a bus stop, fussing with the loose thread of his clothes. Today, he’s wearing a pastel orange henley shirt with thick, white braces holding up his flared trousers. He hugs his knitted cardigan closer to his chest, feeling the chill in the early morning. He had asked Mrs. Oakes to use one of his vacation days for work and she thankfully accepts, looking like she couldn’t care less of what Harry has gone up to. This day is special, he figures. It’s always been one of Harry’s weird fantasies to take a walk around, talking about the view in front with someone he is comfortable with, someone who is kindred. 

He looks up and sees Louis walking in his direction, waving a hand when he sees Harry look at him. His cheeks twitch with a smile and he enthusiastically waves back. When he walks nearer, he looks over at what Louis is wearing—a black tracksuit with red and white stripes on the side. He pairs it off with white and grey shoes. He looks like every London boy in magazines Harry has had a crush on, but somehow better and realer. He smiles broadly when he trots closer to Harry, ‘Hey!’ Louis tugs on his straps gently. ‘Nice braces.’

‘Hi.’ Harry responds with a wide, tight-lipped smile—the one that shows his deep dimples—carefully not letting light spill out of his mouth. 

‘What’s first on the agenda, Harold?’ 

‘Hiking.’

Louis stops and looks at him in disbelief, and Harry hides his laughter by speeding up his walk. The hiking trail is on the other side of the road and the two of them trudge on the wet, rocky path surrounded by thin, pine trees and small cedar trees. It is a forty-five-minute long hike but that doesn’t stop Louis from complaining, making the other boy give him the occasional amused glances. Harry isn’t a big hiker, either but growing up on this island, he has no choice but to get used to it. They encounter a small spring in which Louis actually pauses to admire. When they reach the end of the trail, the other boy makes a show of bending tiredly, resting his hands on his thighs and wiping his forehead off with non-existent sweat. Harry just watches him with an exasperated but ultimately amused expression on his face. 

‘If I’d known our date would go like this, I never would have agreed.' Louis casually says, lazily crossing his arms. The younger boy just gapes at him in response, making him laugh and pat Harry's back.

After Harry's initial brain-melt, he quickly leads him towards the view of the _Montgomery Maclean Castle_ , in which Louis gasps out loud at. _The dork._ It is one of the oldest establishments in the island, inhabited by an Erodian noble hundreds of years ago. Now, it’s one of the island’s most popular tourist spots, with its spacious great hall and white, high ceilings. Harry, Louis, and other tourists (although him and Louis usually fall behind) stroll the long hallways, the massive kitchen, and even the creepy dungeon. Harry tries to stifle his laughs as Louis imitates the statues and funny-looking paintings on the wall. As they exit the castle, the castle’s caretaker gives them a withering look. 

The next establishment they visit is the _Sea Rock Brewery_ and Louis teases Harry if he’s old enough for a pint. Harry glares at him and snatches it away from him, and makes a face on the taste. The older boy cackles at him and orders a fish and chips for his trouble. After their quick snack, they head to the _Maritime Museum_ just across the street. By the end of the tour, looking at artifacts and learning about the island’s marine history, Louis mocks Eroda’s “ _disappointing”_ and “ _frankly short-lived_ ” accounts of history. Though, he is impressed that the museum itself is inside a boat. Next to the museum is a gift shop and naturally, Louis wants to go. The shop is nautical-themed which seemed appropriate. In the end, Louis buys a pack of prawn-flavoured crisps (an Eroda delicacy) and a small painting of an anchor with a rope tied around it. Harry buys a miniature lighthouse, designed after Eroda’s own. They get sidetracked again when Louis spots a movie theatre downtown, which didn’t even premiere any real films, just old Erodian reel film clips. Still, Louis immensely enjoys it, laughing even though the clip wasn’t particularly funny. They munch on Louis’ prawn crisps. After their little theatre endeavour, they set out _Sally’s Tavern_ for dinner and Harry tastes tequila for the first time and falls in love with it.

Their last destination is the Lighthouse and Harry can’t contain his excitement. It’s always been his favourite spot and at top you can see everything, everything that is Eroda and what stretches beyond it. At night, it’s even better. The blaze from the lighthouse gives depth to things usually unseen in the dark and he loves the mystery, the secrecy of it. He turns to Louis who has his chin propped on his knee **,** looking thoughtful.

‘What’s with the painting?’ Harry asks randomly, quietly.

‘Hm?’

‘Why’d you buy it?’

‘Er, I don’t know. Thought it was pretty.’ Louis turns his face to his. ‘Did you know that anchors have two symbolisms?’

He waits for him to continue. Louis looks back to the dark sea. ‘They can either mean that something is holding you back. Dragging you down,’ He ponders about that thought. The older boy continues, pulling at his fringe. ‘Or it could also mean having a strong and deep bond. Enduring and invincible. Bound to each other forever.’

'Louis,' Harry gulps. It's now or never. He might as well know now for surely, he'll just hear from everyone else. Harry's infamous like that. He’s been thinking about it all day and now is the perfect time to say it. ‘I have to tell you something.’

Louis turns to him. They're facing across each other, squashed on the window's circular sill, their knees almost touching. The pitch black darkness of the night sky darkens the pupil in his eyes, while the light refracting from the lighthouse highlights the hues of blue. 'Yeah?'

'I.. well,' He fiddles with the end of his shirt, breaking eye contact. He feels like he's going to vomit. A vindictive voice at the back of his head tells him that he's a _freak, and if he tells about this… this weird anomaly, then he'll leave. They always leave_ —

'Harry—?'

'You have to promise not to freak out!'

 _'Harry_.'

'I just—!' Harry stands up, fusses with his curls, and breathes deeply. 'Please don't be weirded out.'

'Harry, it's _fine.'_ Louis stands up, smiling at him softly. His eyes are crinkling again, and Harry's heart skips a beat. 'It's the 21st century. Most people are accepting nowadays.'

He tips his head back suddenly, confused. 'They are?'

'Yes,' The older boy answers patiently. Then he grins, and he notices that one of his bottom teeth is jutted out. Harry wants to lick it. 'It's okay to fancy boys.'

Harry feels like his brain _short-fused_. 'What?'

'I know what it's like. I came out at 15—'

He starts shaking his head vigorously. 'No, no! That's not it!'

Louis blinks. 'It's not?'

'I mean, it is, I _do_ fancy boys but!" He rubs his eyes furiously, feeling manic all of a sudden. ‘My mouth shoots out a bright light whenever I smile.’

Louis blinks again. ‘What?’ 

He repeats the words slowly, sounding as perplexed as Louis looked. The other boy just stares at him, face blank. He opens his mouth and then closes it. _‘What_?’ He sounds so confounded that it comes out as a tiny, feeble ‘wot.’ 

Harry inhales, and faces towards the wall and smiles so widely that both of his dimples deepen and pop right out, and his teeth are in full display. On cue, a burst of blinding white light erupts from his mouth, as bright as the lighthouse near them, arguably brighter. Louis jumps out and yelps. Harry looks at him from the corner of his eyes, and he can see the reflection of his light in his eyes. He then very slowly purses his mouth close and looks at the other boy, biting his lip nervously.

The silence seems to stretch on for forever, until Louis breathes out a somehow relieved chuckle. ‘So that’s why you never smile with teeth!’

Harry’s smile returns, albeit sheepishly. ‘I didn’t want to freak you out.’

‘Alright, fair, fair.’ His grin turns impossibly softer, and Harry feels something flutter in his stomach rising up to his chest. He feels snaking its way in his heart, making it difficult to breathe. It seems like these days it gets harder to breathe when he’s around Louis. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

He ducks his head shyly, feeling like a bird that just flew freely for the first time.

They go home at almost three in the morning, unaware of the time. Yet Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care, feeling brave for the first time. He doesn’t sleep either, but rather writes the beginning of a love song.

* * *

The days that follow feel like a breeze for Harry, and he finds himself drawn to Louis more and more. He does things— _normal teenager things_ — he never in a million years thought he would experience, like sneaking out late at night. Due to his _unfortunate_ condition, he never imagined himself as anything but normal but with Louis, that does not matter at all and despite almost blinding him for three times now, he genuinely wants to spend time with him. It’s a strange, new feeling but not unwelcome. 

Harry has never fallen in love. He’s had infatuations, crushes, found many people attractive but no one that makes him feel that way. He loves love. Loves writing about it, thinking about it, imagining it despite not experiencing it. Everybody talks about what it would be like when you fall in love, how they occupy your mind and your heart, how a day with them feels like a second, how everything is brighter and more vibrant when you’re around them. He thinks they might be right.

He smiles dreamily as he hands the paper bag to the customer, murmuring pleasantries. Louis isn’t going to be here today since it’s a Wednesday and that’s when he works for a whole day in the docks with his uncle. Harry decides to pay him a visit after his shift, which couldn’t end soon enough.

‘And this is Blue Skies by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis—’ His head snaps faster to where the radio is. ‘—Armstrong.’ A jaunty, trumpet intro starts crooning from the radio and Harry stands frozen for a minute before exhaling out an incredulous laugh. He’s clearly losing his mind. 

He pulls out his trusty leather journal and adds a few lines of lyrics to his new song.

> _Whenever I hear your name_
> 
> _A smile creeps on my face_
> 
> _For some reason I cannot explain_
> 
> _It’s never out of place_

The harbour is still bustling with activity even after the late hours, the stevedores are hauling cargo, operating forklifts despite the dark skies looming above them, warning them of a storm. He spots Louis on one of the quieter parts of the port, struggling with a small boat. His smile widens, and his heart races. Harry hides from one of the boats on standby, gripping the paper bag he’s holding, feeling like a creep just watching Louis try to push the boat to the shore. He’s wearing a white shirt and track pants, and grey trainers. Harry, on the other hand, is wearing a pale yellow jumpsuit, which is a little baggy on the low. Louis thrusts the boat with his back, groaning infuriatingly when it wouldn’t budge. It looks like he was about to give up, his hands are on his hips and his face dripping with sweat. Harry makes a move to announce his presence but then stops dead on his tracks. Louis raises his hand and gently moves his index finger (which isn’t touching any surface of the boat at all) and to his shock, it actually tips over and takes into the water. Louis exclaims something he couldn’t hear meanwhile, Harry still refuses to believe what he saw. He stays there, stunned while Louis continues to work on the small boat. _Did Louis really just move that boat with his finger?_

He shakes his head, still trying to comprehend what he just saw when he accidentally trips on a rope hanging from the boat. He yelps, and he sees Louis snaps his head to his direction. Harry smiles guiltily and he is rewarded by a smile so bright it could rival the sun. Louis waves at him, beckoning him to come over. He shakily walks over to Louis and wordlessly hands him the paper bag. The older boy takes the bag from him and looks inside, then looks at Harry pleasantly surprised.

‘Aw, Hazza!’ He says, his tone teasing but his expression fond.

Harry momentarily forgets his initial freak-out, melting like hot wax just by being near Louis. ‘I figured you’re sick of croissants now.’

‘Impossible, but I do love a good butty.’ He grabs Harry’s hands, which sends a shock all the way from his fingers to his arm. ‘Good lad.’ He grins before pulling him away. 

Before Harry knows it, they’re on their way out of the harbour. Harry turns to him, alarmed. ‘Hang on, where are we going?’

Louis looks at him questioningly, momentarily dropping his hand to grab his black woven jacket with the _Manchester United_ logo on the front from the rack inside the small, empty lounge near the bay. ‘The bench! I think I left me phone there.’

‘But you were working!’

‘Eh, I was done anyway.’

‘Oh.’ Harry pauses the pouts, ‘But I didn’t bring my record player!’

Louis just laughs at him. The bay is relatively near the cliff side so it took them no more than ten minutes to get to their destination, the bench where they met for the first time. Well, _technically_. It used to be the place Harry would go whenever he wanted to be alone, but he doesn’t mind sharing it with Louis now. He has come to find that he would rather be with someone than be alone. When they arrived at the bench, the air became much chiller and windier. Harry sits on the bench, with his leg tucked in while Louis looks for his phone and finds it under the bench, cries out. ‘Aha!’ He sits beside Harry and puts on his jacket. Harry shivers a little bit, the cold air hitting his exposed arms. He uncuffs his sleeves and stuffs his hands on the huge pocket. When he looks at Louis, he is surprised to find out that he’s already looking at him with a fond smile on his face. Harry fidgets with his fingers and smiles back. He tears the chicken and bacon sandwich and hands him the other piece. Wordlessly, Harry takes it, strangely touched. They naturally drift into easy conversation while eating, while listening to faint music coming from Louis’ phone. 

As the skies darken, Harry’s thoughts keep shifting to what happened to the docks and he’s debating on bringing it up when a familiar tune starts playing, to which Harry actually gasps out loud. Both heads snap to look at one other, both wearing identical beaming smiles and surprised expressions. Louis stands up and starts lip-syncing to the song, hips wiggling to the beat of the song. He gestures for Harry to stand up and join him, doing the _pulling ropes_ move. He giggles before standing up, pumping his arms and dancing. Louis hands him the invisible microphone, and Harry mimes singing the next lines of the song. 

_So stay there_

_'Cause I'll be coming over_

_And while our blood's still young_

_It's so young, it runs_

_And won't stop 'til it's over_

_Won't stop to surrender_

They’re both singing loudly now, and Harry doesn’t know how Louis’ hand finds its way snaked over his back but he’s holding his other hand while his arm is resting on Louis’s neck. He laughs harder than he ever did in his life, yelping when Louis spins and dips him. When he comes back up, their faces are inches apart and he’s staring at Louis’ clear, impossibly blue eyes—the ones that just draws him in every time like a moth to a flame, like the wave back to the ocean—and his gaze drops to his mouth and suddenly, they’re kissing. Louis’ mouth is hot, and they’re not moving anymore. It’s over before Harry could properly make sense of what happens. He blinks slowly, and his vision is flooded of the older boy just staring at him, looking adorably worried. ‘Harry, I’ve got to tell you someth—’

Harry cuts him off by giggling shakily, feeling woozy all of a sudden. He places his hands on both sides of his face and leans in for another one. Louis’ hold on his waist tightens and he also _giggles_ to his mouth and deepens their kiss. This isn’t Harry’s first, but it feels like it is. He dreamily wonders if anything could ever match up to the way Louis’ lips are soft and slow against his, kissing like he has all the time in the world. When they break apart, Harry could only smile and almost swoon at the way Louis is looking at him, with reverent disbelief. They both laugh, and Louis rests his forehead against his. 

When Harry goes home that day, he beelines for his room and flips through his journal and finishes his song, his heart light as a feather and strange events forgotten. 

* * *

The next day is a Sunday and Harry is awake before his alarm clock rings, lured by the smell of freshly baked bread. He excitedly jogs downstairs to heave a deep sigh, the smell of his mum’s banana bread, or as their neighbour fondly calls it _Anne’s Brill Banana Bread._ Banana and bread, makes his stomach grumble. Banana and bread; two of his favourite things in the world. He sits on the stool and is about to devour it when his mum places the loaf pan from his reach, all while smiling at him sweetly. ‘Go wake your sister up, babe.’ 

‘Good morning to you too, mum,’ He grumbles, frowning but not meaning it. He walks briskly upstairs and knocks on Gemma’s door in a repetitive manner; one that will surely annoy her, he knows. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m up already!’ She yells. 

Mere minutes later, they’re all seated by the dining table with nothing but crumbs of banana bread left. Harry downs the remaining of his tea and stands up to take a shower and get dressed. When they’re all dressed smartly, the Styles all make their way to a small chapel near Carolina Road. They arrive just in time for the mass to start, and Harry is thankful they still get to listen to the hymns, which is his favourite part usually. Music of any kind is fascinating to him and though he doesn’t know whether God is still out there, the way he feels when singing praises of worship—his voice getting lost in the sea of believers, the sound bouncing in the holy walls of the chapel—is the closest thing he feels to religion. As the music dies down, the pastor starts his opening prayer and then the awaited Word of God. Already bored, he lets his mind drift away, fiddling with the button of his blue dress shirt which is tucked in his dark trousers. He’s dressed a little too formally than he likes, and he briefly wonders how Louis would react to his outfit. He blushes.

‘—says that it bears all things, believes all things. Love hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. Jesus’ love for us is enduring and everlasting—’

 _Love never fails._ The words ring in his head, and he closes his eyes, savouring it.

He nudges Gemma, whispers, ‘Gems.’

‘What.’

‘Have you ever fallen in love?’

‘What?’

‘Have you ever—’

‘I heard you,’ She turns to him, her expression mischievous. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just curious,’ he shrugs, avoiding eye contact with his sister. 

‘Harry, are you in love?’

Harry ponders that question. ‘No.’ He pauses. ‘I think so? I don’t know.’ He turns to Gemma, smiling helplessly. His older sister snickers at him, but she’s also smiling gently. She takes his right hand and starts massaging his palm, out of habit. She always does this when her hands are not occupied with something. It’s really only mild physical contact but he always finds it comforting. 

‘For me, falling in love is like flying,’ Gemma says, her voice barely above a whisper. The pastor in front of them keeps droning on. ‘There’s always some part of you scared that you’re going to fall, but you keep floating. It’s exhilarating, it takes your breath away.’ Her fingers are light on his skin, and he’s thinking of the way Louis’ eyelashes caresses his cheeks. 

‘When you fall in love, it’s like you’d follow them to the ends of the earth. You’d endure everything, just for them,’ Gemma trips on her words. ‘You’d—you’d lend them your heart, and in the off chance they break it, it— _your heart_ , I mean—doesn’t stop beating for them.’ She laughs quietly.

Harry’s heart is pounding. ‘Sounds terrifying.’

‘It is,’ she shrugs. ‘But it’s worth the chance, you know? It’s enough to risk it all.’

He looks over to his sister and sees that her eyes are smiling and have glossed over. He looks back to the pastor and listens this time. 

After the service, Harry actually has a shift in Mandeville’s until the early evening. He doesn’t change his clothes, heading straight to the bakery and taking his spot behind the counter. Niall, his co-worker, gives him a crooked grin before hurriedly taking off his apron and dashing outside. He manages a small wave and a ‘Bye!’ before he’s gone. Harry just waves back, albeit weakly. The boy is pretty new and he hasn’t got a chance to know him. He looks friendly enough, although Harry is cautious. Once he deals with the afternoon frenzy, he slumps on the chair and rests his eyes. It’s promptly disturbed when he hears the door open. Harry sighs, miserably opening his eyes. He’s glad to do it since he’s greeted by the sight of Louis, who’s grinning from ear to ear. He quickly stands up and matches his smile, and hastily blinds Louis when a shot of light bursts from his mouth. Mortified, he purses his mouth and slaps a hand to cover it for good measure, squeaks out, ‘Sorry!’ but it was muffled.

‘’s okay,’ There are crinkles in Louis’ eyes, and Harry thinks he’ll never get tired of seeing them.

The memory of their kiss suddenly resurfaces in his brain and Harry doesn’t know why he feels shy. Louis squats down and surveys their selection of desserts and baked goods, which he never did before. Harry watches him, adoring what he sees. Louis is wearing the softest-looking green jumper, and black skinny jeans. His hair frames his whole face, his fringe almost reaching his eyes and he wants nothing more than to sweep it away. Louis looks at him from the corner of his eyes and winks. He rolls his eyes but blushes anyway. Louis stands up straight and says, ‘I’ll have some brandy snaps.’

Harry frowns, ‘But you don’t usually order those.’

The older boy just puts his hands down his pockets. ‘Trying something new, I guess.’

He just squints his eyes at Louis, who blinks at him innocently, looking like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Harry can’t help his smile and moves to get the snaps from the tray but finds only specks of it. Weird, it wasn’t even on the display. ‘We actually ran out, but I’m gonna check in the kitchen.’

Louis nods and goes to sit at his usual table. Harry sets out to the back to check in the pantry then the kitchen and finds the latest batch Mrs. Oakes made, who’s apparently missing in action. He calls out her name a few times, but doesn’t get an answer. He shrugs and thinks nothing better of it. She sometimes skips out of work, which Harry reckons she’s allowed to do, being the owner of the bakery and all. He picks out the tray and heads outside. His gaze instantly glues to Louis who has his back turned from the counter, yet he could see his finger is slowly, rhythmically swaying from side to side. Harry’s eyebrows lowers and he slowly walks over to see what he’s doing and almost gasps out loud. The water from the small flower pot resting on top of the table has risen up to the air, just leveling Louis’ face and is following every flick of his finger. _He’s doing it again!_

Harry just watches, entranced for a beat and a half before he clears his throat, ‘Um, Louis.’

Louis splashes the water on the table, quickly standing up. ‘Harry! How long have you been there?!’

He just stares at him, before sighing. ‘Louis, I know.’

‘Know what?’

‘I didn’t mean to find out. I swear, I wasn’t sneaking. It was an accident—‘

‘Harry­.’

‘­—like the first one in the docks, with the boat —‘

‘Shit, you saw that?!’

‘—I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide it from me—‘

‘Harry, it’s fine.’

Harry finally stops. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Louis sweeps his fringe, uncharacteristically timid. ‘I guess I wanted to get caught.’

‘Oh.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘What?’

‘I wanted to tell you all this time, and I should have but I didn’t know how to say it. It’s kind of lame.’

‘No, it’s not!’ Harry objects fiercely, grabbing his shoulders in earnest. ‘It’s brilliant! Louis, you can move _water_.’

‘Barely.’ Louis says, but there’s a hint of smile in his face. ‘I guess we’re both brilliant. I can do great things with my fingers and you with your mouth.’

Harry honks a laugh, and then widens his eyes in shock. ‘I’ve never made that sound before.’

Louis just bursts out laughing. He’s laughing so hard that tears are pooling in his eyes, resting his face on Harry’s neck. Harry laughs too and holds him, revelling at how his arms are just made for holding Louis.

* * *

Once their secrets have been laid bare, it doesn’t take long for Harry and Louis to spill other truths. He comes to know Louis’ likes, dislikes, fears, and dreams since they see each other almost every midnight now. When it’s half past twelve o’clock, he would hear the tell-tale sound of pebbles hitting his window. He would grin widely and jump from his bed and look at the window. He would see Louis sitting on a brick knee wall, his short legs swinging slightly. Harry would smile at the sight, always committing how Louis looks under the moonlight in memory. He would excitedly walk downstairs, almost tripping on his way out of the door. The older boy would just look at him, amused. He would jump from where he was sitting and stretch. They would walk to their bench in a hushed conversation like what they have is a precious secret not meant to be told, like they aren’t going to spend all this time just talking. With Louis, nothing and yet everything seems to be enough. 

Right now, they’ve decided to ditch the bench for a bit and have lain down on the soft, grassy ground. Louis is playing with Harry’s fingers and Harry’s eyes are closed, feeling at total ease. He could do this forever.

‘Lou?’ He whispers, eyes still closed. Louis hums. ‘Have you ever fallen in love?’

‘Not yet, no.’

‘Gems said it’s like flying. You’re scared you’ll fall but you keep floating anyway.’

‘Your sister is a very wise lady.’ Louis presses his lips on his knuckles.

Harry smiles, ‘What do you think it is?’ he asks curiously.

Louis seems to think for a moment. ‘I think it’s a gamble. You either get lucky or you don't so, you run from it. Only really brave people take the risk, you know?’

In this moment, Harry thinks that Louis must the most brilliant person in the world. He'd like to live inside his mind for one day, just to see what goes in it. He wonders if Harry's in his mind as much as Louis is in his. 

‘Oh.’ is all he says, catching Louis’ hand and lacing them together. He rests them on his chest, and looks at the other boy. ‘I think love’s like seeing a lighthouse after being stranded on a ship in the middle of the ocean.’ 

‘That’s profound.’ 

‘Thank you.’

They’re quiet again, until Louis turns to him, resting all his weight on his arm. He squeezes Harry’s hand and excitedly asks, ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Well, work—‘

‘Great!’ He pulls his hand away to brush the loose curl hanging on Harry’s face, tucking it neatly behind his ear. ‘We’re gonna go sailing.’

‘But I’m afraid of the ocean! I told you that!’

‘We won’t go far. Plus, I could always control the water.’ Louis kisses his forehead and for the first time in decades, the sun rises in Eroda. He looks at Louis, and the way the sun shines on him. It was golden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shiiiit i finally finished it. thank you for reading, i hope y'all loved it!
> 
> fun fact: the places harry and louis visited in their date are actually based on the fictional places in eroda, based on the [website!](https://visiteroda.com/)
> 
> title is from home by one direction
> 
> come scream about larry with me on [tumblr!](https://kamwashere.tumblr.com)


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